


Caught in between

by FakeCirilla9



Category: Ai no Kusabi
Genre: Disturbing Themes, M/M, Mild Gore, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:08:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21972709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakeCirilla9/pseuds/FakeCirilla9
Summary: Volume 3, Daryl’s POV
Relationships: Iason Mink/Riki
Comments: 12
Kudos: 12





	Caught in between

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cathy77](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathy77/gifts).

> "For the next three days Riki couldn't even piss standing up without help. It was so bad that the furniture Daryl, which rarely showed any emotion, twitched its face in sympathy." (p. 38)  
"And then Iason started fucking him, and Daryl was no longer called into the bedroom. Even though being embraced by Iason and mercilessly penetrated caused a kind of pain he feared may tear his body apart, it was still better than exposing himself to Daryl and having his mouth all over him.  
Daryl still cleaned Riki up afterward. When Riki had been taken by Iason and reduced to a paraplegic pulp—needing ointments on his bleeding back end, inflamed by being stuffed to capacity—Daryl had catheterized the bedridden Riki and taken any abuse Riki could throw." (p. 123)  
"After being bedded by Iason, no matter how abusive Riki became, Daryl never lost control." (p. 123-124)  
"[...]and after that day Iason's attitude hardened. When Riki disobeyed at home, Iason would abuse him until he couldn't stand. [...]  
The body that Iason mercilessly punished couldn't even remember Daryl's attentions afterward." (p. 125)
> 
> Inspired by the quotes above. And by amazing comments from cathy77, to whom this fic is dedicated. I hope you don’t mind it strays a bit from Iason/Riki relationship itself, showing it from the outside rather than from the inside.

When Master Iason didn’t require the furniture for a particular bid, Daryl’s job was various house chores. His duties weren’t plentiful, as dusting and washing up was conducted by suitable robots. Maintaining the bots didn’t take much time, coordinating household tidiness likewise. It limited to pushing a few buttons at the right time. Or fixing an occasional malfunction.

Sometimes it had been so boring and unengaging that Daryl considered taking devices apart and rebuilding them from pieces. The boredom ceased with the appearance of a mongrel from the slums.

Since master Riki entered the household the robots required noticeably frequenter fixes. Daryl had additional job as mending the broken automatic coffee express for example as he was doing right now. He could buy a new automat but it seemed unprofessional to cause Master expenses because of misbehaving pet. Which pet was poorly chosen if you ask Daryl. Although he certainly made things more interesting and brought life to the stagnant atmosphere of Eos. Maybe that was why Master didn't bore with him yet. He never even broke sweat at Riki’s antics, when Daryl at times had a wish to strangle the boy with his bare hands.

Riki was uncouth and insolent. Sure Master had taken his freedom, but what was freedom in slums? The boy got a status not so different to Daryl’s without sacrificing as much.

Yet that night it changed.

It wasn't that unusual: Riki throwing insults that then drowned in his wails and Iason’s cold, admonishing voice carrying above that.

Training.

Yet the screams tonight were more of pain than frustration.

The ring, Daryl realized, when the weak bits of "take it off" reached him. He didn't know what type of ring his Master has been going to use.

He had mentioned the device to Riki, sincerely thinking that giving the boy more space, more range of available moving will be a relief to them all. Riki would get a chance to change the surrounding minutely, to go stretch his legs at the very least. Daryl would get moments of peace daily. Without snarls and shoves and whines of how fucking boring it was.

Daryl didn't know Master would chose that ring. It was quite obvious by screams and ongoing quiet dialogue it was a D type and Riki was learning first-hand what it was capable of.

Riki brought it on himself as usual. Mouthing back to Master always ended badly and he shall know it by now. Yet Daryl still felt like he betrayed his trust (it was inexistent and he didn't own Riki anything and yet...)

The noises changed in cadence. Caught breaths and moans grew louder, the usual sexual torment. Only more prolonged. To the point when it was so loud Daryl didn't need to strain his ears. Without eavesdropping it became distracting from the job at hand until he found himself sitting still and listening numbly.

In one moment the blood drained from his face.

It was... it couldn't be.

Elites didn't do such things.

It was so below the Blondie’s status.

Blondies didn't touch, didn't look with desire at anything, kept their emotions perfectly hidden – yet that wasn't true, was it? How many times Daryl witnessed that glint in Iason's eyes when he held Riki loosely, yet efficiently restrained, when Daryl fellated him.

But now. There was no Daryl, nor any other pet. There were only Riki and Iason and the sounds of fucking. The creaking of bed. The slap of skin. The sighs and grunts. Even Riki’s sudden silence had something eerie in it.

It lasted shortly in objective measurements. A few minutes? Several at most. Perhaps even less. Yet to Daryl it seemed like an eternity between the start and the sounds of the Master retrieving: the near unheard rustle of rich clothes, the quiet clink of the belt buckle, the automatic buzz of doors.

Daryl pushed off the repaired express with unfeeling fingers and unseeing eyes.

It couldn't be so different from usual afterwards. Just a bit more bodily fluids to wipe.

He automatically wetted the towel and went to the bedroom.

It wasn't an unusual sight of Riki sprawled exhausted on the rumpled sheets.

The scent of the sperm hung heavy in the room and Daryl heightened air circulation.

Riki’s face was a bit more pained maybe than the usual wrung off mien. His body bore typical signs of abuse. It wasn't till Daryl reached between his legs that he wavered. In a way he expected it, it was obvious from what he had heard. And what he hadn’t seen he could imagine. He saw both of them naked. He knew how large Elites were.

He put the moist cloth to gather the abundance of sperm. Riki hissed. His eyes were closed and Daryl couldn't say if he was conscious. The rag came out dotted with blood.

This wouldn't do, thought Daryl, looking at the fluid spilled on the inside of Riki’s thighs. He went out.

It wasn't an escape, he just needed proper tools. He made sure the water was pleasantly warm, yet not hot. He gathered cotton pads and painkillers with a glass of fresh water.

He started with those, propping up Riki’s head.

The mongrel shook him off.

“What's this?”

“Medicine for pain.”

Pills splattered on the floor, as Riki pushed his hand away.

“Don't treat me like some rape victim!”

He flung his legs off the bed. He moved awkwardly slow and uncoordinated.

The moment he wanted to stand and put his weigh on the lower limbs, he fell to the floor with a muffled, bit back shout.

Daryl leaped to him, helping him up. He wanted to put him back to bed, but Riki had other ideas.

“Bathroom,” he gritted.

They made a slow limping way.

Inside Daryl helped him into the bathtub and turned the water on. Riki raised the temperature.

“You shouldn't-”

“I thought I was _master_ Riki.”

“High temperature makes your blood course faster and you're bleeding.”

“Get lost.”

Daryl stayed unmoved.

Riki splashed him with water.

“I said get lost! Will you be hovering here when I piss and shit too?!”

Hot baths and water coloured red brought unpleasant associations to mind, yet there wasn't anything sharp in the bathroom and Riki wasn’t a type prompt to self-harm.

Daryl stepped of as far as to the opposite wall. Riki mumbled a curse at him but let go.

Daryl watched him scrub himself clean until his skin turned pink. The hickeys, shapes of Master Iason’s fingers and teeth were still there. Between his legs he was more careful. He inserted his fingers carefully, twisted them.

Daryl handed him a towel and an ointment.

“It should be applied at dried skin. Do you want me to-”

Riki grabbed it and applied without word. He leaned heavily on the bathtub side. Daryl covered him with soft bathrobe. Realizing Riki can barely stand on his own he slipped a hand under Riki’s shoulders.

“Come back to bed. You should rest.”

Stopping so Riki could take a leak (the urine was normal colour, so the internal damage didn’t run deep) Daryl ushered him to another room. He sensed Riki going relatively less tense. He didn't know if it was effect of relaxing bath or the lack of heavy smell in the air and the bed unstained with seed.

***

“Master Riki slept for eight hours. He woke once from the bad dream. I judged sedative too invasive,” Daryl reported dutifully.

“Is he bleeding?” Master Iason’s voice was completely calm, cold and detached. Yet the question posed spoke of concern.

“A little. There is some abrasion that should heal on its own if he stayed motionless.”

“If he stayed motionless,” that was probably the closest to sarcasm Daryl has heard from his Master.

***

Contrary to Daryl’s concerns the Master did not bed Riki again at once.

Not that Riki stayed put. He was maybe starting to fear Master Iason, but it was nowhere near the levels that had been instilled into Daryl.

“You walk around too much,” noted Master Iason offhandedly. “You will bleed anew.”

Riki jumped, startled by the presence he didn't expect and turned to Iason. He still faced him with a lifted chin.

“And you're concerned about that I heal quicker so you can fuck me hard again sooner,” spat Riki, biting back the tremor in his voice.

“I won't be as harsh next time.”

Daryl saw Riki’s face fell a bit at the blatant information the ordeal will be repeated. He was surprised himself, but he hid it better than Riki.

Riki’s lips trembled, a shiver run down his spine. Iason smirked.

It gave Daryl time to prepare better.

Remembering awkward toilet visits he made appropriate orders. Riki wouldn't be pleased, but it was his physical health that was to be Daryl’s highest priority.

***

Next time it happened Riki was near paraplegic, his lower half struck senseless and unresponsive. It didn't deter him from trying to push Daryl away, wielding clenched fists. Daryl dodged the blows and wiped the saliva from being spat on calmly, and ignored the stream of cusses addressed his way.

When Riki calmed a bit Daryl spread his legs and set to work, wiping, cleaning, drying and oiling. The drugs of Tanagura worked quickly. Daryl had mixed it with mild sedative, which made Riki both impervious to pain and sleepy.

Using his drug induced drowsiness, Daryl put out catheter. Riki frowned, but couldn't do much more.

“What do you think you're doing,” he mumbled.

Daryl held his limp penis from his body and inserted the tube carefully inside. The bladder was emptied without trying trip to toilet and back.

***

When he could walk, Riki would go outside the apartment and Daryl had no idea where he went.

Until he heard of Mimea.

It was probably the worst distraction Riki could choose.

Master Iason raged.

Riki paid the price ten times over.

And Daryl cleaned his unconscious body afterwards.

It was nearly daily (or rather nightly) routine. Riki would do something that irritated Master Iason: disobey the order to jack off or come quicker during it than Master Iason allowed or back-talked – which in his manner of speaking meant opened his mouth at all. And Master Iason was dragging him to the bedroom and soon from behind the closed doors Daryl could hear Riki’s screams.

Daryl tended to his unmoving body in grey morning light and at noon Riki still slipped off the penthouse.

Daryl tracked him by pet ring GPS.

He didn't mourn for Mimea (or if he did he did so silently). Outside he wailed for his lost freedom. Soundlessly he did so, yet his thoughts were obvious even in a footage as he stared at the main gates with longing akin to those a wolf showed to the full moon. Riki went there day after day, no matter how strict Master Iason was for him that time.

Sometimes he walked springily, sometimes he shuffled his feet and clenched jaw, stifling pained noises. Yet always doors attracted him.

He didn't think of disobeying Master Iason anymore. But he apparently didn't stop thinking of his old life as well.

Would he go if he had a chance? Would he dash for freedom? Was he still a proud, insolent mongrel or was he demeaned into a pet fully by Iason's hand?

Was it hope or desperation that drew him there?

To find out Daryl would need to sacrifice everything and he was not yet ready to do so. But maybe one day…

**Author's Note:**

> The existence of this fic is your fault, [Cathy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathy77/profile)


End file.
